


Off the Record

by drinkbloodlikewine, whiskeyandspite



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Crack, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Threesome, Voyeurism, alex is loud in bed pass it on, suggested previous relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4458572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Alex just stares, eyes wide and mouth open and shakes his head back and forth before mouthing </i>are you fucking kidding me?<i> at the smiling angel above him. Michael shifts only enough to raise himself on all fours, slipping free of Alex as he attempts to find a place to hide, tangling in the sheets and nearly slipping from the bed.</i></p><p>So remember that one time we <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4422290">alluded to Alex and Michael being walked in on</a>? Well it went something like this...</p><p>You don't need to have read <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4422290">XXX</a> to understand this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off the Record

**Author's Note:**

  * For [callay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/callay/gifts).



> Because why the hell not, eh?

There’s little need to worry about noise when one is three-hundred fifty meters above the ground.

Besides that, Michael likes it. Every sharp jut of his hips, cock shoved deep into Alex’s ass, pulls a pitched little moan from him that none who know him as a soldier would expect. Neither would they expect to see how far his legs can spread as Michael holds Alex’s heels high, hands around his ankles, watching his relentlessly hard length plunge into him again and again. Alex extends shaking fingers to Michael and the archangel does not let himself be grasped, leaning back on his heels.

“Patience,” he murmurs, and Alex’s long and lungful groan carries on it a curse.

He grasps his own hair instead.

It is the second time today, once early that morning when Alex had started it, crawling sleepily over the angel and pressing deliberately to him, and now, after a long bath and a few too many bottles of warm wine shared in celebration of Alex’s long three-day leave from service. Michael still wonders how long he can play with the boy before he collapses from it. Chosen one or not, Alex is entirely human, and his stamina does not come close to that of an angel.

Pity.

Another twist of his hips and Michael has Alex writhing, stretching his beautifully patterned arms above his head for the headboard, knocking over an empty bottle in the process and shivering when it smashes on the floor and down the small flight of stairs.

“Messy,” Michael scolds him, bending to suck a mark against Alex’s neck, grinning when his hair is pulled and curses are whispered like a prayer against him.

And then there’s a knock on the door.

If Michael notices it, and Alex figures there’s no way he fucking _can’t_ , he pays no heed. The archangel is entirely focused on the soft patch of skin purpling between his lips, sucked rough and snared gently between his teeth. The pull tugs taut all the way down to the pit of Alex’s belly, but as another moan uncoils from within, he clasps his hand across his mouth.

Michael, of course, calmly removes it to pin Alex’s wrist above his head.

The next knock is sharper, three loud bangs followed by a clattering of keys.

“Archangel,” Noma calls. “We’re coming in.”

Michael sighs, but shows absolutely no hurry to stop what he’s doing or discourage entry. In fact -

“By all means, soldier.”

Alex just stares, eyes wide and mouth open and shakes his head back and forth before mouthing _are you fucking kidding me?_ at the smiling angel above him. Michael shifts only enough to raise himself on all fours, slipping free of Alex as he attempts to find a place to hide, tangling in the sheets and nearly slipping from the bed.

The door unlocks and Michael lies back against the pillows with a languid stretch, sweat-slicked and naked, as beside him Alex tries to dig his way under the covers of blankets or both.

“Archangel?”

Alex hears the familiar hush of a wing unfurling and looks up quick enough to see himself shielded from any prying eyes as he continues his attempt to bury himself and his humiliation beneath silk and satin.

“Soldier.” Michael flexes the wing, wide and strong, and turns onto his belly, slowly enough to suggest he does it for comfort rather than politeness. He lets his wing settle to the bed behind him and slowly fold and vanish away. He can feel Alex pressed up against his back, covered just barely by the array of pillows and sheets atop the elaborate bed.

Noma enters, trigger finger at rest against the barrel of her side-arm, not yet drawn but read. She meets the archangel’s gaze - the smile visible just in the muscles beneath his eyes, the piqued brows - and she squints, clearing her throat.

“We heard a sound from outside the door,” she states, averting her eyes from the archangel’s nudity. “When there was no answer -”

“We?”

Behind her, already scarlet-cheeked though far less conscientious than Noma in averting his eyes, the second guard on duty for the Stratosphere steps one stride closer.

“Ethan Mack,” Michael says, holding the soldier’s gaze even as the pull for his attention to drift lower worsens. Against his back, Michael can feel the tension that rivets Alex’s body rigid. “Did you also hear these sounds?”

Ethan directs his eyes, comically deliberate, towards the expansive window and nods. He makes a vague noise of agreement, then yelps in quiet indignation as Noma steps past and subtly elbows him for his lack of tact.

“There was a sound of glass shattering,” Ethan adds. “Other… sounds… we thought we would -” He shrugs, looks over at Michael again, eyes immediately tracking down the archangel's smooth chest to the curved cock just barely visible as Michael lies. Ethan swallows, runs his tongue against the inside of his bottom lip. “- would come in since we’re guards and we guard you and that’s what we do.”

“I commend you for remembering,” Michael tells him, expression delighted. He shifts his eyes to Noma instead, the one guard actually checking the room for intruders and issues. She finds the shattered bottle and with her boot, gently moves a few of the far-flung pieces closer to the rest of the mess. It is hardly in their duties to provide housekeeping, maybe an innate need to keep order in places that call for it.

“Is there anything amiss?” Michael asks her, cocking his head to the side and offering a languid smile. Stretching one leg out farther on the bed, he rocks back to rest on his elbow once more, opening his body to full inspection for Ethan, who still remains rooted where Noma had dragged him.

“You’ll excuse our vigilance,” Noma replies, expression caught between amusement and apology. “Should we call for someone to clear the bottle remains from the floor?”

“Seems unkind at this hour,” the archangel answers. “Perhaps Sergeant Mack -”

“I can help,” Ethan says. Though Noma hums a note of concern - or warning - at him, she shares her wry look with the archangel in turn.

“I’ll just go give the all clear.”

Her dry tone conveys enough, and Michael’s amusement only grows as he turns to watch her go. There is, in truth, nothing that he would hide from her, and little of which she isn’t made aware. But there is no need to make her position more precarious than it already is, and though she rolls her eyes on her way out the door, her appreciation of the reprieve is tangible.

“Thank you, Sergeant Banks,” calls Michael, and the pleasure in his voice is enough to give her pause at the door.

“Are you out of wine?”

The archangel blinks, and glances towards the empty bottles, polished off throughout the day. “Yes.”

“Good,” she answers, letting the door click shut behind.

Michael's smile grows by a degree and he watches the door a moment longer before turning to look at Ethan once more. Behind Michael, in the pillows, Alex squirms, overheated and needing air and still so damn horny from being interrupted, unfinished. 

Ethan just stares at the archangel, sculptured and beautiful and strong and god, it was one night and one time and -

"I'll see to the glass,” he manages, fumbling with his weapon, trying to find a place to set it that would not be in the way and not look at Michael at the same time because the man is so beautiful it is unholy.

Ironically.

A bit of fumbling finds the sidearm set beside the bed, alongside another of the same make, model, and issue. Ethan sets his attention on the Archangel Corps badge and draws a breath. He can't manage to make himself release it, though, let alone form words with it as Michael regards his reddening with interest.

"The glass," he reminds him.

It was entirely pleasant, the moment they shared together in an interrogation room. More than pleasant. It was a deeply satisfying experience, mirrored in how far down his throat Ethan had swallowed the archangel's cock and still tried to press further. He too had made extraordinary sounds, held captive in the soundproof room, but Michael cannot help but wonder as Ethan bends to pick up the bigger shards if this is perhaps the answer to his prior quandary.

If Alex, by the nature of his mortality, must rest after an hour or several, then perhaps the solution is to have someone else to help ease his burden. It wouldn't be the first time that Michael shared his boundless needs with several humans at a time. It might be the first time that he felt such an overwhelming affection for all involved.

Michael leans back heavier against Alex.

He gets a swift punch in the side for it.

Michael makes a sound of almost purred contentment and shifts so that his weight is almost entirely on the Chosen One buried in silk, still watching Ethan.

"It is a pleasant surprise to find you on my detail,” he says, and Ethan drops a shard he had just picked up. "How long has it been since that memorable interrogation?"

Ethan swallows, shrugs, stands to deposit the glass into a pretentiously elaborate dustbin.

"A week?" He ventures. "Since I last -" He doesn’t finish that sentence but can see Michael coil pleasantly in bed hearing the unspoken.

"And have you since?" Beneath Michael, Alex wriggles more, and without much thought Michael drapes an arm over him to hold Alex from falling off the bed in his fervor.

“Have I - is this -”

“Unofficially,” Michael insists. “Off the record.”

Ethan’s eyes dart to the familiar weapon again, its owner yet unseen in the room. “I might have borrowed a nip of bourbon.”

“A nip.”

“A bit.”

“A bit of bourbon.”

“A bottle,” Ethan says. “I entirely intend to return it.”

“The bottle,” Michael clarifies, and Ethan grins before he can stop himself.

He sets a hand to his face, then the other, then remembers he’s still in uniform and straightens to attention, hands behind his back. The stiff military display is taken in with rapt interest, as pale eyes trace the sergeant's neatly pressed uniform, his broad shoulders and long legs, just slightly spread.

"Should I leave you to your company?" Ethan asks, so softly that Michael feels a curious discomfort from it. Like a bruise before it fades to pale again, deep inside his chest. But just as quickly as the rest of the archangel heals, so too does this, and he tilts his head to ask, across his shoulder.

"Should Sergeant Mack take his leave, Alex, or should he stay with us and play?"

This punch comes quicker this time, and with a grimace, Michael casually removes the arm that was holding Alex into bed. The boy slips to the floor with a bang and a flourish of multicolored pillows.

"What the fuck?" Alex hisses, looking up over the expanse of the bed - and the expanse of Michael - to his a friend. He swallows. Ethan swallows.

"It's not what it looks like."

"I'm not looking."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"It isn’t what it sounded like either."

"Like sex?"

"Ethan -"

"Because it sounded like sex. I know what sex sounds like, and that was some deep -"

"Stop."

Michael watches the two of them, delighted, and rolls to lie on his back again, exposed in all his beauty and angelic shamelessness.

"My question remains unanswered," Michael reminds them both, and the tone sends a shiver through Ethan, pulls a warm sigh from Alex. And it is to him that Michael turns to seek his answer. 

It was him he asked.

"I -" Alex looks at Michael, looks at Ethan, and wonders how this could possibly get more humiliating.

Perhaps if Noma came back.

Or that would make it worse. Better. Harder. Just -

"Please lock the fucking door," Alex implores, and it is answer enough.

"To be fair, it was locked before," Michael notes, rolling from the bed to pad stiff-cocked and bare-footed to the door. He cracks it, enough to catch a dry look from Noma, who mouths to the archangel that he is the worst before he grins and locks the door again.

"This is weird," Ethan says. "Is this weird?"

"Getting weirder each time you say it," Alex answers. "Stop making it weird."

Michael's eyes settle on Alex, even as he surrounds Ethan with his arms from behind. With an unsurprising familiarity in how to undress someone else's uniform from behind, Michael begins to work his buttons loose. His gaze remains on the Chosen One, though his amusement is shared.

His cock presses rigid against Ethan's backside.

"Spared the lash, then, for good behavior."

Ethan swallows, ducks his head to watch the elegant fingers work his shirt open. This is surreal, insane. Too fucking good to be true, most likely.

“I’ve been good,” he offers, and finds a deep hum from Michael his only answer. “The bourbon was good.”

“Then I will spare the bourbon,” Michael replies. “How else will you learn, otherwise?”

Ethan is bared now, from the waist up, and laughs nervously as his shirt is tossed aside and Michael presses closer again, still watching Alex, even as his hands seek the sweet spots against Ethan’s skin that make him shiver and rock back. Alex swallows, as turned on as he is confused, as he is almost upset.

But the number of times he has imagined Ethan sprawled beneath him, or being sprawled beneath Ethan, on the more distracting evenings in the Corps…

“Alex, come here.”

Blue eyes alight to the angel’s, and Michael tilts his head, enough to press his nose to the messy light hair against Ethan’s temple. Alex stands to obey. Reluctantly, he makes sure it’s seen as reluctant. 

He knows he’s not fooling anyone.

Ethan mouths an apology to his brother-in-arms - no, not brother, not now, too weird again. He mouths an apology to Alex that’s quickly dismissed with the wave of a hand. Michael spreads his palms over Ethan’s soft belly, and Alex’s hands instead find his belt.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Not long,” Michael answers.

“A while,” answers Alex, all at the same time.

The archangel’s smile spreads until he closes a kiss against Ethan’s shoulder and watches Alex brusquely tug his belt away, tossing it to the floor. What he deliberately lacks in elegance adds a certain barbarism to him that Michael cannot help but find enormously appealing. He is rough around the edges, and in trying to smooth them, Michael finds friction.

“You’ve never done this together, have you?” Michael asks. Alex’s dour glare is answer enough, but Ethan shakes his head.

“I thought he was straight. Lost interest because we were good friends anyway, but -”

“Straight,” Michael snorts, grinning lazily.

“You should have heard him and Noma -”

“I hear him well enough in my bed,” Michael says, and Alex gives Ethan’s pants a particularly vicious shove in answer. He’s flushed, from arousal still heavy between his legs and embarrassment both and it is so endearing. Michael seeks an arm around Ethan to catch Alex’s jaw and stroke it softly. The affection is met with a glare and another rough tug to get one of Ethan’s boots off, then another.

He is lovely.

Spirited, angry thing.

“There is such a thing as bisexual you know,” Alex mumbles at length, and Ethan laughs, but it’s hardly dismissive.

“Well it’s good news for me, anyway,” he turns his head just enough to see Michael, brows up and lips working before he adds. “If you’re… okay with that. I mean. I’m always open to lash-sparing but - not trying to steal anyone from anyone here.”

“There’s no one to steal,” Alex mutters, and when he stands, he presses a rough kiss to Ethan’s lips, sets a hand to his jaw to hold him still.

It is Michael who moans, voice tilting delicate so as not to disrupt. Alex shoves their bodies together, and Ethan back into Michael, curling his arms tighter around the sergeant’s waist as their mouths twist hard together. Each clasping the other’s face, Michael watches through hooded eyes. This, in truth, is what he has missed most about having more than one mortal at a time in his bed. He could watch them play for hours, their uncertainty and curiosity, exploration building into pure biological need: for contact, for closeness, to mate and to be wanted for that.

What Michael feels is a distortion of that desire, filtered through a body that both is and is not his own. Like the reception of their radios when sandstorms disrupt the air, celestial static stops him from ever truly losing himself in human need the way that they can. He envies it.

But he satisfies himself with being close to it instead.

Alex grabs firm between Ethan’s legs, stroking up along his balls and running fingers over his shaft before grasping it tight. Ethan whimpers into their kiss.

“I think Alex is unhappy with me,” Michael murmurs.

Alex opens his eyes and regards Michael over Ethan’s shoulder, the look is enough to confirm the speculation and Michael’s smile widens. He seeks with soft palms down Ethan’s ribs, to his hips and lower still, letting his nails drag pale lines over Ethan’s thighs until he trembles.

When the kiss breaks, Ethan curses, loud enough that it would be heard outside the door, and Alex can’t help but laugh, ducking his head against Ethan’s shoulder to stifle that sound too. The tension reached its peak, it broke, like a fever, and now something has to give.

“If he keeps taking it out on me like this I’m cool with it -” Ethan whispers, and Alex bites him for his trouble, gentle and teasing, letting his arms slip around Ethan enough to hold Michael as well, pressing all of them closer before pulling away and turning to walk towards the bed again, crawling into it and falling heavily back, legs spread and breath pushing from him in a hum.

In truth, Ethan and Michael are well worth the watch, the angel quick to turn the sergeant towards himself when Alex lets him go. He kisses him in turn, just as deep and claiming, and Ethan damn near melts from it, another little kitten sound escaping him.

Alex is glad that at least he isn’t the only one helplessly vocal because of Michael’s ministrations.

"You never sought me out again," Michael tells his serviceman, hands curling around his ass to push their hips together. "Should I be offended?"

Their cocks rub between their bellies with every step that Michael takes, bearing Ethan backward towards the bed. He ensnares him in a kiss with every step; he squeezes so tight against his ass that he has Ethan nearly on his toes.

"You whipped me," Ethan protests.

"And?"

Michael is quick to not let Ethan fall as his heel thunks against the first stair to the bed.

"You did other things to me," he mumbles, dropping back to lay when the bed pushes to the back of his knees. His head is against Alex's thighs, and he tilts a kiss against that firm warmth.

"It was you that did most of the work," Michael reminds him. "Are you aware," he asks, kneeling to the overstuffed bed, covered in tangled smooth sheets and too many pillows, “that Alex is remarkably flexible?”

Ethan raises his eyes to his friend, watches as Alex’s throat works in a swallow, as he tries to hide a smile and fails. It doesn’t matter now, here of all places, naked and hard in Michael’s bed together. There’re no more secrets now. He shivers when Ethan traces the tattoos against his skin curiously, still astounded by the things since he had walked in on Alex showering that one time at some ungodly morning hour.

“I’m not so bad either,” Ethan offers, grins when Michael hoists his legs wide and nuzzles warm thighs.

“I’m sure you’ll have time to prove it.”

“Well, I mean, I’m not virginal but I haven’t really had much chance to practice a lot beyond, well, you know, you _know_ ‘cause… well. And I suppose I’m always up for a challenge but - _fuck_ -”

“Shut up,” Alex laughs, as Ethan shivers and coils against him and Michael takes his fill of Ethan’s half-hard cock.

“Shit, fuck,” Ethan moans, spreading wider and arching up, which Michael allows, for now, contented to watch Ethan work himself to a frenzy from this alone. There’s time, there are two of them now, and hours yet until the guard change.

The soldiers kiss again, a heavy, heady tangle of tongues and firm lips pressed hard together. Their affection for the other is betrayed in the fanning of fingers across Ethan’s cheek, the way he strokes Alex’s chest in turn. Between Ethan’s legs, pressed wide by Michael’s hands, the archangel bows his head to suck the sergeant’s stiffening shaft, filling flush with blood and growing thick against his tongue.

“Noma’s going to kill me,” Ethan whispers, and Alex grins against his mouth.

“Yeah, probably.”

“Shirking duty.”

“Screwing around with me.”

They kiss and Michael watches in wonder as he curls his tongue around the head of Ethan’s cock. Despite having never seen each other in this way before, despite having never acted upon carnality with the other, the intimacy between them is evident in every laughed whisper. They are, in some ways, as brothers.

Michael distracts himself from the thought with an obscene slurp off Ethan’s hardened length, before kissing across twining thighs to nuzzle into the golden curls of Alex’s groin instead.

It is a tangle of bodies not yet used to working together in this dance. Alex knows how Michael feels, how he moves and what he prefers. He knows that if he is nuzzling then Alex will soon be shoved and pinned in play, he knows that if he snarls he will be kissed, that if he squirms he will be smacked.

He knows it, he loves it. Just as he knows that if he struggles enough Michael will unfurl his wings in defense, and he knows just how sensitive those are.

But with a third, it becomes a mingling of giggled curses and sweaty shifts, many limbs, caught elbows and snared hair and then - 

“Michael, fuck -” Alex parts his lips with his tongue and arches back, pressing a hand to his mouth that is immediately, if patiently, removed and pinned. “You’ve been edging me for a fucking hour I can’t -”

“Then don’t,” Michael tells him, and the command rings heavy in his voice, enough that when Ethan moves closer, settling his lips against a heavy dark mark on Alex’s skin, he finds himself pinned by the same power. He lets his eyes travel down Alex’s body, to between his spread legs and to Michael there, devouring him with practiced relish. It makes Ethan shiver, it makes him squirm, rubbing against the sheets and splaying his fingers over Alex’s side.

His breath catches as Michael raises his eyes and watches him, deliberate and mischievous as he continues to suck Alex down, until the other’s voice hums through the room again. Ethan curses, seeks out with his hand to settle in Michael’s hair, and delighting when he is allowed it, the angel closes his eyes again, and moans.

Michael lets himself be moved by mortal whims and human wants, he lets the gentle-natured sergeant hold his cropped hair tight and push him lower. Michael takes, the insistence and the force. He takes the length of Alex’s cock into his mouth, past it, breaching his throat until pale hairs soft as spun cotton tickle his nose.

Ethan and Alex both watch, the latter through eyes barely open, though his lips are wide on aching sounds that on every breath and every stirring of his hips raise higher. The archangel is not one to bow, to anyone for anything; he is the one who metes out justice and righteousness. A curious peace settles over the archangel, an aching nostalgia for something so simple as yielding. Listening. Acting on command.

The two humans turn their eyes to each other, dawning amusement slanting their grins crooked. They lean close to kiss as Alex’s hips buck erratic, quicker, jerking unsteady -

Michael’s wings unfurl like the snapping of tent canvas in the desert wind. One set, only, but enough to block out the hazy lights of Vega and near everything else, splayed trembling in anticipation above them. A hard flap brings Michael out from beneath Ethan’s hand, off Alex’s cock, and both servicemen curse, hearts hammering, as Michael calmly thumbs away a thread of spit on his lip.

“Turn over. Both of you.”

“Both of -” Alex’s laugh is helpless and he bites his lip, a mix of displeasure and relief in his expression as Ethan looks on.

“Will it be more pleasant than the last time I turned over for you?” Ethan asks, and Michael settles with a tilt of his head, wings expansive, much larger close up than Ethan had imagined they could be, seeing them in the sky.

“It depends on your definition of pleasant,” Michael reasons. “I, personally, found the last time entirely pleasant, and though not on the agenda this evening, plans have a tendency to change.”

“Is he ever satisfied?” Ethan asks, eyes still wide towards the rather awesome being before him. Alex shakes his head.

“He’s tireless.”

“And now there are two of you,” Michael adds, pleased, and Alex laughs again, groaning as he draws his legs together and rolls to his side. Ethan just curses, still unsure if he’s awake or dreaming, still too overwhelmed by this and them and -

“Sergeant,” Michael purrs, drawing a hand through Ethan’s hair before tugging it tight. “What did I say?”

Ethan swallows. “Turn over?”

“You’re still on duty,” Michael reminds him. He sets a hand to the bed and leans across Ethan’s body, pinning him despite his struggle to turn over. The fingers fisted in his hair curve Ethan’s head back, and rubbing the tip of his cock along Ethan’s thigh, Michael rumbles low against his ear. “And sergeant you may be, but you are still subordinate, are you not?”

“Sir,” he whispers, half a laugh tangled in his little gasps. “Yes, sir.”

“Sergeant Lannon, please remind Sergeant Mack of his commanding officer and to whom he answers.”

Alex stretches languid in bed and turns his head to look at Ethan beside him. He has been here, that initial cat-and-mouse play of power before he asserted that he had none here whatsoever and allowed himself to happily succumb to Michael’s whims and pleasures.

“The archangel Michael,” Alex answers, arching his back and bringing his hips up before slipping back to bed again. “Your lord and master.”

“An embellishment,” Michael says, but his smile widens anyway, “but not altogether incorrect.”

He releases Ethan and presses a kiss to his shoulder as the young man groans relief and arousal, arching upward and rolling to his belly. As he does, Michael rubs his palm flat against the small of Alex’s back, his own manner of praise. Before him lay two beautiful young men, both fiery and strong, fiercely loyal and wildly clever. One shields himself in humor, the other in gravitas, and together they are a force with which to be reckoned.

And Michael deeply, _deeply_ wishes to reckon with them both.

Taking up the lube that fell to the floor some hours before, he slicks both hands, ensuring that as he does, lurid wet sounds can be heard from both the servicemen before him. Alex tucks his brow against Ethan’s, eyes closed, and murmurs, “You thought it was going to be fun, didn’t you?”

“Isn’t it?” He sends a look across his shoulder, lifting from the bed just enough to look -

“Down.”

The sharp command has the desired effect, and grinning, Ethan tucks close to Alex again.

“Talk to me in a few hours,” Alex snorts, before any further conversation is cut short by Michael splitting their cheeks apart with damp, cold fingers.

He is as careful as he is deliberate, a slight adjustment between one hand and another, two fingers immediately for Alex, one for Ethan to begin, and both squirm, pleased, into the sheets. They should care more, perhaps, that they are bending so willfully, and yet neither of them seem to. When in Rome, and all that jazz.

An interesting expression.

Michael remembers Rome fondly.

He curls his fingers and, predictably, Alex makes a sound first.

“Come on,” he groans, helpless, into the sheets, fingers grasping white against them as he tries to hold himself together and finds the task near-impossible. To his credit, Ethan is too occupied making his own sweet little pleading sounds to notice his friend caught in the pleasure-distress that etches his muscles stark through his skin.

“I am not yet ready to lose you to sleep,” Michael informs him, twisting his fingers in a slow circle and spreading them so wide that Alex’s only response is a long, groaned curse. “Demanding. You see how Sergeant Mack behaves?”

“You haven’t been ready for fucking hours,” Alex says, teeth gritted. “When will you be?”

“Every time you ask, my answer becomes that much more unreachable.”

Ethan laughs, fingers splaying in the sheets and clenching slow again. He pushes himself backward, knees drawing up and spreading wide. With a kiss against his bottom, Michael slips in another finger as reward.

Michael watches them with a fascination normally reserved only for the sea. The rhythmic undulations of their bodies, syncing in time, the little ripples that tighten through them when he starts to fuck them harder, or spread his fingers, or rub their prostates… there is no denying the beauty of their form. Well-honed muscles, sun-dark skin peppered with sundry scars of living life in Vega - and both with voices so sweetly pleading that there are angels who would envy them.

“Alex,” Michael whispers, as he draws his fingers free and slicks his cock. “You will wait.”

Another moan, plaintive and trembling, but Alex does little more than settle on his knees and grasp the sheets harder. Beside him, Ethan shivers and reaches out to stroke fingers through his hair, tugged often enough in play-fights and actual scuffles but never this gently before. He wonders what it means, now, that this has happened, that they both know, have seen, have seen the other done -

Urgh.

Ethan’s other hand immediately goes to his cock to hold himself tight, restraining and refraining, even when he was not the one scolded.

Despite the gentle kisses worked over Alex’s back, over the markings that seem to shift beneath Michael’s lips, like trembling creatures coiling and swirling towards and away all at once. Despite that, it is Ethan that Michael lines up against, turning from his attentions to draw parted lips against the rim of his ear until the sergeant shivers with it and curses.

“Up,” Michael whispers, smiling when he’s obeyed almost immediately. He turns his eyes to Alex, close, and observing through barely-open eyes. “And you. Watch.”

He rolls his hips, the blunt head of his cock pressing inward to part the well-stretched muscle wider still. It is a gentle entry, rocking deeper with each thrust, and Alex snorts into his arms. He is rarely given such a luxury as that, but if he’s being honest, he can hardly imagine a time that would have merited it. They meet like rocky shore and the sea, splitting the other to pieces and then settling whole again.

It is a surprising degree of compassion from the insatiable archangel to be so tender.

Well. Maybe not _that_ surprising.

Ethan’s eyes flutter closed, mouth open in silence but for sharp little gasps pushed forth as Michael works himself into longer strokes, timed to match the pull of Ethan’s hand against his own cock. This, Michael takes from him, hunching across the sergeant’s back as he finally presses in to the hilt.

And then Ethan’s voice bends, and cracks.

As selfish as Michael is as a lover, he is also entirely attentive. Though his eyes remain on Alex, he turns his face in a nuzzle against Ethan’s back, kissing between his shoulders, resting his hands - gentle now - against his sides as he starts to move his hips. The luxury of softness eases quickly, and Ethan finds himself panting into the bed wondering if this is what heaven is.

Probably.

Considering.

Well…

He does not look at Alex, he can’t, but he can feel Alex’s eyes on him like hot fingers over skin, he wonders, despite himself, if this is a fine promotion for possible later endeavors. He damn well hopes so, Ethan Mack is a fantastic lover.

Or lovee.

Or -

“I - Michael - fuck -”

“Await your orders,” the archangel purrs, words sighed soft against Ethan’s trembling back. A sweep of wings adds force to the rough thrust that buries him again, and again, just to hear his laughter rise and sway unsteady into a moan. Michael squeezes firm around the head of Ethan’s cock and letting it slip stiff from his fingers, he brings the thick precome coating his palm to his lips, licking it dry.

And then he sets his eyes to Alex.

Ethan whimpers as Michael slides free of him and moves to bend across Alex instead. He lays heavy across his back, wings wide to either side, feathers tickling Ethan’s back where they rest. He aligns himself and enters all at once, cursing in Enochian against the back of Alex’s neck.

“Language,” Alex grunts, and grins when he hears Ethan laugh softly near him, almost entirely overcome with pleasure, with the strange amount of care in having it given him. Michael’s wing against him proves a deliberate motion, curling enough to tug closer, almost caress. Still contact, still touch and softness and warmth.

Those wings are fucking warm.

Ethan watches. He watches the way Alex seems to unfurl beneath the archangel, spread and willing and _submissive_ to him, unlike the way he is when they meet in public. Here, Alex gives himself over, moans and pleads, rocks back against every shift and touch, stretches his arms forward to the headboard. Michael’s fingers move to curl over his own and hold them down, head ducked to rub his nose warmly against the damp hair at the back of Alex’s neck.

“You can take it,” Michael whispers, running his free hand up through the sweat across Alex’s brow and into his hair. “I know you can.”

“Please,” begs Alex. Atop him the angel is heavy, no space to pull out and drive back in entirely, but he keeps his cock buried deep instead. Every buck pushes just a little further; every snap of his hips shakes the bed beneath them. “It’s been hours -”

“And you have held.”

“I can’t.”

“You can,” grins Michael, leaning back enough to set his hands flat against Alex’s back. He brings a leg up to either side of Alex’s thighs, watching again as his cock vanishes into the soldier’s boot camp-tight bottom. Wings spread wide, he is inhuman in his breadth and power. No, superhuman, and Ethan can do little more than squeeze his cock, unmoving, as he watches.

When Michael comes, it is with a whisper of feathers splaying wide against each other. His fit body snaps taut but for the quick jerks of his hips, spilling heat inside his Chosen One.

Alex makes a beautifully obscene sound and squeezes his fingers harder around the elaborate headboard, still holding back, still just taking it - it is entirely fascinating for Ethan to watch, he can’t imagine endurance like that. He wonders if he’ll be lucky enough to be taught, whenever the whim strikes again.

He looks up at Michael, the angel’s expression clear and pleased, just the slightest blush against his cheeks, lips dark and parted, eyes closed. His wings tremble, the only show of genuine helpless relief in his otherwise composed form. Michael works his teeth slowly over his bottom lip, almost as an afterthought, and he turns his head before opening his eyes to look at Ethan.

And then he smiles, genuine and soft, and parts his lips again on a sigh of clear enjoyment.

“I can go again, if you’d like.”

Ethan’s eyes widen, pupils swollen, and he no sooner takes a breath to answer in the affirmative when Alex’s shaking fingers push across his mouth.

“No,” he says, laughing dire against the sweat-slick satin pillow beneath him. “No, Michael.”

With a sigh, and a helpless shrug that carries through heavy wings, Michael slips free of Alex and tucks his wings close to his body, though not yet away. He slides to the bed behind Ethan, watching Alex just past him with baleful amusement. A kiss is tucked just behind Ethan’s ear, and graceful fingers follow the ridges of his ribs, almost tickling.

“Perhaps you’d like to play together, then,” he considers. “To whatever ends you see fit.”

Alex starts to laugh again, helpless and uncontrollable, and shivers with a little curse when Ethan parts his lips and takes Alex’s fingers into his mouth.

“You are such a sadist,” Alex giggles. Michael reaches over to stroke his hair, pressing close behind Ethan as he does, soothing Alex’s adrenaline hysteria down to panting breaths and shoulders heaving to take them.

“Touch,” Michael encourages, turning his lips against Ethan’s hair. “Bring pleasure, come. And rest after.”

“And then?” Alex asks, drawing in a shivering breath and meeting Michael’s eyes with his own liquid ones, wide and bright. The angel’s eyes narrow, wrinkle at the corners and that alone is answer enough. Alex sighs, presses his fingers a little deeper into Ethan’s mouth and turns his head into the hand that caresses him.

A moment, two, to catch his breath and find his strength again, and Alex slips his fingers slick from his friend’s mouth and draws his hand down to stroke Ethan instead, leaning in closer to rest forehead to forehead together, noses nuzzling close and lips parted to share the same panted hot air.

Michael withdraws his wings entirely, and himself in turn. He does not want to interfere with them - he has had his fill and then some. Instead he watches, a look in his eyes akin to that which passed through Ethan’s when Michael unfurled his feathers. A sense of awe and wonder, arousal simmering beneath, but it isn’t desire that reddens Michael’s cheeks.

It is a quaint and curious sense of voyeurism, privy to a connection and privacy that is not his domain.

They tangle their legs together, each grasping the other’s cock as if it were their own. Uneven rhythms break dissonant between breath and skin and sighs and pulses. They stroke unsteadily until they sync into a rhythm without needing to speak it, as their lips become metronomes that clicking softly mark the rising tempo of their bodies.

“Are you going to?” Ethan asks, grinning as Alex laughs and snares a hand around the back of his friend’s neck.

“I don’t think I can help it.”

“I will if you will,” Ethan says, eyes narrowed in amusement as he smiles broad before another kiss joins them.

Alex’s entire body is shaking, and he manages just a weak little sound that is the beginning of a word before he comes hot and hard in Ethan’s hand. A cumulation of hours of patience and teasing and sweet words mingled with filthy ones purred against his ear.

And wine.

God, so much wine.

He laughs again, relieved and released, and turns his wrist against Ethan, leaning close to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his neck, again and again with little fluttering things.

“You know he wasn’t kidding when he said I was flexible,” Alex mumbles, pressing closer, working Ethan nearer and nearer the edge with a grin. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see if I am… or if you’re better.” 

Ethan laughs, wiping his hand mostly dry along the sheets before framing Alex’s face with his palms. “You know I’m better,” he mutters, their brows together. Biting his lip, he bucks into the tunnel of Alex’s firm grip. They touch each other not as lovers, hearts maddened by the other, but as friends sharing a particular joy together.

Michael sighs softly, warm air pooling against Ethan’s shoulder.

And that’s all it takes for Ethan’s furtive rutting to spasm to a stop as his cock pulses thick jets of come across Alex’s belly, his fingers, his softening cock. Their kiss meets clumsy but their eyes still carry smiles etched in the corners, fine lines fanning as they ease each other down.

With a rustle like river reeds, Michael loosens his wings and tilts almost onto his belly, curving his feathers over both of the soldiers who for now share his bed. He seeks a kiss from Alex, held long; he nuzzles the back of Ethan’s neck.

“Rest,” Michael tells them, as all three curl close. “You both have a very long day ahead of you.”


End file.
